Conner and Tim
by RavishinglyRood
Summary: Robin and Superboy spend a week together, as Tim and Conner, as normal kids. However, they are anything but normal.
1. Issue 01 The Bat Playdate

**Teen Titans**

_Conner and Tim_

Issue #1 – _The Bat-Playdate_

Conner Kent learned a long time ago to always expect the unexpected because nothing in his life is 'normal.' It wasn't surprising that his life differed from average people; he was the clone of _the_ Superman, after all. All of the super battles, the zipping around to save the world, even the blue tights he used to wear…none of that really surprised him. He expected that. It came with being the costumed adventurer known as Superboy.

No, the things that infuriated him were the little ones. For instance, even though he was the clone of _the_ Superman, he still had to sleep. He was fifty percent human, after all. So even though he was 'The Boy of Steel,' he was just as vulnerable to grumpiness as any other sixteen-year-old when woken early during summer vacation.

This morning, Conner groaned and slammed his pillow over his head. "Conner," Martha Kent repeated, "the phone is for you." Conner raised his head, peered from the darkness of the pillow, and he looked at the clock. It was four AM. Four o'clock. In the morning. He grumbled. The sky was still dark. The chickens weren't even awake. And Conner felt like he had been asleep for just three minutes. He pulled the pillow back over his head, and he held out his hand waiting for Martha to hand him the phone.

"Come on, sleepy head," Martha said, pulling the covers back on his bed. "You know we don't have a cordless phone. You're going to have to come to the kitchen."

Conner swore under his breath, and he rolled out of bed. He stumbled into the kitchen, walked right into a wall because his eyes were still shut, and he tried to ignore Jonathan Kent laughing at him from behind a cup of coffee. Conner groped the wall, finally found the phone, and he pressed it to his ear and mumbled, "Hello."

"For someone with super hearing, your 'ma' had to call you for a long time."

Conner sighed and leaned his head against the wall. The voice on the other end was firm, calculated, and it sounded like someone who did not need sleep. Conner would recognize it anywhere. "Tim, do you know what time it is?"

"Yes. I would be thirty minutes from waking up to go train at the Batcave right now."

Conner bit his lip. Tim was better known to the world as Robin, the costumed sidekick of an urban legend called the Batman. The only thing was, Batman wasn't an urban legend. He was quite real. And so was Robin. Robin was one of the odd things in Conner's life that he had expected. Being friends with a kid who jumps around in green tights? That comes with the territory when you're Superboy. It didn't seem strange to him.

Conner would have rolled his eyes, but he still hadn't opened them, and Tim would not have seen it anyway. "What do you want?"

"I'm going to be there soon."

"What?" Suddenly Conner's eyes shot open. "Why?" His voice cracked.

Tim paused, and Conner bit his lip. He could tell Tim was about to talk down to him, to say something that implied he was stupid. "Because it's summer. And Supes, Batman, the Kents, and even we thought it'd be a good idea if we spent a week together."

Now Conner paused, the way he always did when Tim talked down to him. "I know that, you idiot! I meant why are you coming at four in the morning?"

"Actually, it's six to me."

"I don't care! In Smallville, Kansas, it's still 'Conner gets to sleep in because it's summer vacation' time!"

"Batman is bringing me in the jet. We don't want it sighted over the Kents' farm. It might blow the whole secret identity thing."

Conner bit his lip. Somehow, Tim's being able to anger him while staying completely calm and void of emotion made Conner even angrier. "My secret identity is a pair of glasses," he said slowly. "I don't think the good ol' folks of Smallville are going to figure out that you're Rob—"

Tim cut him off. "Don't use the code name."

"What?"

"Don't use the codename. Batman and I don't want the Kents to know who I am."

This time Conner did roll his eyes. "Oh, for the love of…. I think they are going to figure it out! Hmm, let's see…who would Superman get with to set up a play date between their kids? And, Tim, you're obviously not Wonder Girl. And you're not impulsive enough to be Kid Flash. And I think they will rule out Cyborg, Beast Boy, and Starfire since you're not a cyborg, you're not green, and you don't have alien cleavage!"

"This is exactly why we need the cover of darkness. I'm putting my identity in jeopardy just by being there."

"How is this…you need…" Conner was at a loss for words. "Fine! Whatever! Just come over. I'll see you when you get here." Conner slammed the phone back on the receiver. Of course, he couldn't slam it hard; that would have broken the phone because of the super strength. So even though he did what we would call 'slamming it,' to him it was more like setting the phone down as gently as a kitten. That was another one of those things that annoyed him about being Superboy—he couldn't even hang up on his friend by slamming the phone down.

Conner muttered swear words all the way back to his room.

"Was that your friend Timothy?" Martha called.

Conner didn't even answer her. He just let himself fall face first onto the bed. But his head couldn't have been on the pillow for more than a minute before he heard a knock on the front door. His eyes snapped wide open. "Oh, there is _no _way he is already here…" he grumbled. He rolled over onto his back and pulled the pillow over his face.

"Conner," Martha called, "your friend is here!"

"Tell him to go away!" Conner shouted, and pulled the pillow tighter over his head. Martha scolded him, but he heard Tim say something like 'just let him sleep.' However, Conner discovered something else annoying about being Superboy—even though he needed sleep, and even though noises make it harder to get to sleep, he couldn't turn off his super hearing. So no matter how tightly he pulled the pillow over his head, he couldn't get the sounds of Tim, Martha, and Jonathan chattering and laughing in the kitchen out of his head. Still, he stayed in bed for another hour even though he had given up on sleep. Rather, his goal in staying in bed was to calm down enough so that he could see Tim without killing him.

Conner was pretty sure that killing his guest would get him a scolding from Martha.

Eventually, though, Conner rolled out of bed and he found his way to the kitchen. Tim, Martha, and Jonathan were all sitting around the table, eating breakfast. Tim even looked like he was on his second stack of pancakes, and they all smiled and greeted him warmly. For some reason, that just made Conner even more irritated.

"Morning, Conner," Tim said. He tried not to stare at Conner's messy bed head.

"Yeah yeah, whatever." Conner pulled a chair from the table, threw himself into it, and started chucking pancakes onto his plate. He spilled some orange juice when he poured it, and he heard Tim snickering under his breath. Conner ignored it, and he started shoving food into his mouth. He looked down the whole time, not at anyone, not at anything, and he didn't talk. He just kept eating, like a cow chewing on grass, and stared at his plate as if that would make the three of them go away.

The Kents and Tim watched him eat, and they tried not to chuckle at his grumpiness. After a while, Conner realized they had stopped talking and felt their eyes on him. He looked up, and he saw their grinning faces. "What!?" he snapped, pancake spraying out of his mouth.

Tim almost fell out of his chair at that. "Grumpy Superboy with bed head and eating wheat cakes in his underwear is possibly the funniest thing I've ever seen."

"Shut up, Tim. Just shut up."

Conner decided he had finished his pancakes, even though he still had half the stack left, and his fork clattered as he tossed it onto his plate. The three of them were giving him a headache. He rubbed his temple and swallowed his last bite as he stood up. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Good," Jonathan said. "And guess what Timothy agreed to help you do after that?"

Conner just glared so intensely that Tim was surprised when the heat vision didn't shoot out.

"Chores."

Jonathan smiled like he had given Conner the best news he would get all day, and that made Conner's eyes roll as he walked out of the room.

When Conner was gone, Tim turned to the Kents and asked, "He's not really a morning person, is he?"

Martha laughed. "Oh my, no. No he isn't."

"I feel bad I got him up, but I'm a complete night person. I didn't think it'd be such a big deal for him to get up this early."

"Oh, it's not," Jonathan said. "He's a farm boy. He should be used to getting up this early by now. He's just a bit stupid when it comes to going to bed."


	2. Issue 02 Big Time to Small Time

Issue #2 – _Big Time to Small Time_

Tim Drake was a city boy. He was from _the_ city, Gotham City. It was a lot like Metropolis, only people didn't want to live there. Tim had always been an exception to that. He loved Gotham. He had lived in Gotham his whole life, and he thought he wouldn't trade it and all of its dirty streets, miserable people, and psychotic madmen for anything.

He had expected to be terribly bored by Smallville. So far, though, the country hadn't been nearly as bad as Superboy made it sound. Tim felt a little uncomfortable with the lack of noise, but he quickly adjusted to it. He sighed. Everything seemed less complicated in the country.

In Gotham, there were a million things to stress Tim out. That number jumped to two billion when he was Robin. No matter how good you are at keeping your cool, when Two Face is strapping you to a bomb, you do start to sweat. These days, though, the problems Tim faced in his civilian life seemed a lot worse. At least he had been trained to deal with Two Face; nobody had shown him how to adapt to a new school, living with his dad and step mother, and lying about being Robin to a father who seemed so proud of him. And Tim had to put up with Batman's moodiness whether he was wearing the cape or not.

All of that stuff was hundreds of miles away right now. In Smallville, the only thing to stress Tim out was Conner. While they did chores, every time Tim tried to strike up a conversation, Conner would only grunt or mumble. Even when Tim asked what he should do to help, Conner would just grunt and point like a gorilla. Tim idly wondered where Krypto was. It seemed like the last Dog of Kyrpton would have been better conversation.

It was noon before they finished the chores, and Tim still had not gotten a word from Conner. They were halfway back to the house before Conner quietly said, "Hey, Tim?"

Tim looked up. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry if I was a little cranky this morning."

"A little?"

"Okay, a lot. I didn't mean to sound like I don't want you here. Actually, I've been looking forward to this for the last few weeks."

Tim looked down. "It's fine." Tim didn't admit it, but he had looked forward to it too.

"Yeah," Conner said, rubbing the back of his head. "It gets pretty dull out here. Boring as hell. It'll be nice having somebody to actually talk to. Especially someone who I…uh…" Conner fumbled over his words. He was about to express emotion, and that was never an easy thing for a sixteen-year-old boy to do. Especially not to another guy.

Tim raised his eyebrow. "Someone whom you what?"

Conner bit his lip and looked at the dirt. "Someone that I consider a pretty good friend. Maybe my best."

Tim looked down too. "Oh." Tim tried to ignore the empty feeling in his chest. "Thanks."

"Yeah." Conner coughed, in a tough-guy way, to reaffirm his manhood after the touchy-feely moment. "Well, I just wanted to apologize for the way I acted this morning. It wasn't very cool of me, and I'm sorry. I also had a headache, and I guess I took that out on you too."

Connner's words shot Tim in the chest. If he had not been so good at putting on masks, Tim's face would have turned pale. He stopped walking. "You had a headache?"

Conner nodded. "Yeah. I did, but it's gone now. I guess the fresh air cleared it up."

"Isn't that strange?"

"Isn't what strange?"

"Is it strange for you to have a headache? I thought you were Superboy."

Conner raised his eyebrow. Something about Tim's voice sounded different, like he was taking charge of the situation. He sounded more like Robin. "I'm also half human. I _can_ get sick. It takes a lot, but it can happen. And besides, I get headaches a lot these days." Conner sighed. "Don't worry about it. It's probably some new power manifesting. Like the heat vision. I just now got the hang of that. It figures, once I figure something out, something new comes up."

"Maybe you're finally getting X-ray vision," Tim said distantly. It was like Tim had made a joke that he didn't get. "I'm sorry about your headache."

"Tim, it's fine. It's just a headache. Look, I appreciate your concern, and I understand how hanging out with Batman could make you obsessive compulsive, but really, I'm fine. I'm okay. Alright?"

Tim nodded. "Okay."

They started walking back to the house again. "Hey, did you bring any clothes or anything?" Conner asked.

Tim blinked. He never talked down to Conner to be mean, but sometimes Conner did ask stupid questions. "Well, yes…"

"I was just asking. I don't remember seeing you with a bag."

"How could you miss it? It was the big bag in the kitchen. You practically sat on it when you came in. And I moved it to your room while you were in the shower. You had to have seen it while you were getting dressed."

Conner shrugged. "I guess I was half awake at the time. And like I said, I was distracted by my head throbbing."

Tim nodded. "Are you sure you feel okay?"

"I said I'm _fine_, Tim. Jeeze, I'm going to start calling you 'Ma' Drake'."

Tim forced a chuckle, and they reached the house. When they got inside, Martha told them they had done such a good job that they deserved a little treat. So she gave them a little bit of money and told them to go into town for a burger. She even said they could take the truck. Conner had wanted to fly there, but Tim insisted they drive. "It's broad daylight," he said. "Are you trying to tell everyone you're Superboy?"

"I zoom around Smallville all the time. Nobody is that observant here. You are way too paranoid about the secret identity thing." Still, he agreed to take the truck. Conner didn't have the patience nor had he seen the point in getting his driver's license so he let Tim have the driver's seat.

When Tim hopped into the beat up pick-up truck, he looked around. He seemed confused.

"What is it?" Conner asked.

"I don't see the button for the rocket thrusters…"

Tim said it so seriously that Conner didn't realize it was a joke until Tim cracked a smile. "This is no Batmobile," Tim said, and the truck kicked as he shifted it into gear.

"You should have let me fly us. It'd call less attention to us, and it'd be safer."

It didn't take long to drive into town, and when they got to Big Hank's Grill, they overheard two of the townspeople talking about how Farmer Jed swore that aliens had visited him earlier that morning.

"He said there were two of them that landed outside his field. There was a big one with horns, and a little one that had a bag full of probes and such," an old man said.

"He said they had a bat shaped flyin' saucer," his friend added. "Fastest thing ol' Jed ever seen."

Tim jabbed Conner in the ribs with an elbow and hissed, "See? See why I'm paranoid?"

"Yeah yeah, I can see. You don't want people to mistake Robin for Martian Manhunter. I got it."

They ordered their food, and Tim offered to pay for it. Between Jack Drake and Bruce Wayne, money wasn't much of a problem for Tim, and Tim could see that the Kents could use everything they earned. Conner, however, wouldn't let him pay. "She offered to pay, Tim. Let her. She would take it as an insult if you didn't."

Tim still felt bad about her paying, but he convinced himself he would feel worse if he had insulted her. They sat down, and they started eating, and they talked. They didn't really talk about anything, but for some reason that was okay. Usually, Superboy and Robin would talk about serious things like Lex Luthor, stopping whatever was threatening Earth that day, and other important Teen Titans matters. Over French fries and Coke, though, Conner and Tim joked about how Tim's lungs weren't used to the clean air of Smallville, so it made him gag. They talked about how Conner didn't have any friends in Smallville and how Tim only 'sort of' had friends in Gotham. They did end up griping about Superman and Batman, and Tim said that at least he had Nightwing. Nightwing had been the original Robin, so he had a good idea about the things Tim went through. Tim had never told Nightwing, but he really looked up to him, like a brother almost. Over Coke and fries, though, Tim almost admitted that to Conner.

They had finished the last of their fries, and their sodas were getting watered down when Conner said, "You know, it's weird talking to you without the Robin uniform. And it's different calling you Tim. It's almost like talking to a different person."

Tim chuckled. "I know what you mean. It's weird seeing you in glasses, dressed like a farm kid, and calling you Conner. It's weird having you call me Tim too."

"Yeah, but I think I'm more Superboy that I am Conner. I've been Superboy a lot longer, anyway. But you, you've always been Tim. I don't see why it's strange for me to call you that."

Tim shrugged. "Sometimes I don't know who I am. Sometimes it feels like Robin and Tim _are_ two completely different people, and sometimes…they're not…. At first, when I first started, I loved being Robin a lot more than I did being Tim."

"And now?"

Tim fiddled with the wrapper to his straw. "Now I don't know if I wouldn't mind just being Tim Drake."

Conner nodded. "Well, from what I've seen, I think I can understand. I really like Tim Drake."

Tim laughed. "That's good. Tim seems pretty fond of Conner Kent too."


	3. Issue 03 The World's Finest

Issue #3 – _The World's Finest_

Sometimes Conner wondered if he actually was stupid. It sure felt that way sometimes, and he wondered if he could blame it on the cloning process. Maybe some scientist accidentally dumped alcohol into the test tube he had grown in. Or maybe they messed up on cloning Superman's brain cells. Or maybe they did their job too well; Superman wasn't known as the brightest member of the Justice League. Conner sighed. Only half of him was Superman, the Boy Scout in blue, though. The other half was Supe's arch nemesis, Lex Luthor. Conner had only recently found this out, and he was taking it the best he could. Which is to say, he wasn't taking it very well at all. It was like…well, it was exactly how it seemed. It was like trying to live up to Superman your whole life only to find out that you could become just as diabolical as Lex Luthor. Sometimes Conner thought he would give anything not to be like Superman. He really meant it, though, when he said he would give anything not to be like Lex Luthor.

Actually, there was one thing about Lex Luthor Conner would not mind having—the genius intellect. He wasn't that lucky. He knew he would probably end up with the male pattern baldness and the psychotic god complex, but he couldn't have the one good thing about Luthor. And being Superboy…for some reason, the red _S _on his chest was like wearing a dunce hat.

Being around Tim made him feel even dumber. It wasn't because Tim talked down to him, although he did, but rather Conner always seemed to know exactly the wrong thing to say around Tim.

While Conner, Tim, and the Kents were eating dinner, Jonathan had made the comment that he had Tim's identity narrowed down to either Robin or Wonder Girl. Conner was horrified. He remembered how sensitive Tim had been that morning over the secret identity, and he glanced at Tim, unsure what to do.

Tim kept his composure, just like always. Then he said, "Well, I guess if Conner didn't tell you I'm Wonder Girl, then I bet he didn't tell you we're going out either."

Conner choked on his spoon. He coughed and managed to get it into his plate just as Martha and Jonathan descended upon him like vultures. They bombarded him with questions about his 'girlfriend' and why he hadn't told them, and even with all his Kryptonian might and Luthorian DNA, all he could do was sit there and blush while Tim snickered between bites of mashed potatoes.

Conner considered using his powers to toss the table into the air and dumping those potatoes in Tim's lap, but he was pretty sure Martha would scold him for it. Conner had trouble imagining Superman going through things like this, and he knew Luthor wouldn't stand for it.

Eventually the Kents saw Conner had enough torture, and the four of them started clearing the table. Tim was carrying the pot of mashed potatoes to the refrigerator when Conner grabbed him by the shoulder. "What was up with you mentioning Cassie? You know I'm going to kill you, right?"

Tim shrugged. "You should have told them yourself. The Kents are nice people. You should try talking to them more."

"Oh, and I take it you tell your dad everything?"

Tim immediately shut up, but not in the way Conner had wanted. As soon as it came out, Conner knew he shouldn't have said it. Tim was a master stoic, but lying to his father was the crack in his armor. Tim hid it well, but anybody, even Conner, could tell how much the subject bothered him. Tim didn't say anything for the next hour or so, and it took that whole time for Conner to work up the courage to say he was sorry.

Tim just shrugged like it hadn't bothered him. "It's all right. I'm sorry I told the Kents about Wonder Girl."

Conner chuckled. "I would have done the same thing to you." He messed up Tim's hair, and even though he tried, Tim couldn't hide his small smile as he smoothed his hair back down.

After that, the rest of the night went pretty well. They tried to find something on television, but the only thing they found was that neither of them was interested in sitcoms or reality TV. "_Fear Factor_ is kind of tame after Brother Blood," Conner commented.

Tim agreed, disappeared into the bedroom for a moment and came back with his laptop. He sat down in the floor, and Conner asked. "What are you doing?"

"I'm checking my email," Tim said as he turned the computer on.

Conner smiled and sat up on the couch for a better view. This was going to be interesting. Tim's fingers flew over the keys, and he clicked his portable mouse, but all he got was frustration. He messed with it for ten minutes before closing the computer and setting it to the side. "I don't get it," he said, resting his chin in his hand, "nothing I tried would get it to connect to the Internet. We have special Bat-DSL too. It should work."

Conner laughed. "Tim, my friend, this house has a special shield around it to keep all satellite and other forms of technology from working."

"Really?" Tim asked, curious about where Superman would get this technology.

"Yeah. It's called Smallville, Kansas. Nothing like that works here. Truth is, they just installed the phone lines last week."

"You're funny," Tim muttered, and he slid his computer across floor.

Martha and Jonathan had been playing cards in the kitchen, but as the computer stopped against the couch, they came to the den. They said they were heading to bed, and Martha suggested the boys call it a night too.

Conner rolled his eyes. She always suggested that, and he always rolled his eyes and told them to have a good night.

Tim, however, agreed.

Conner stared at him for a moment, wondering if Tim was joking. It was hard to tell because Tim always sounded serious, but he kept insisting they go to bed because they needed to get a start on a new day. Finally, he dragged Conner into the bedroom as the Kents called after them to have a good night.

"What's gotten into you, Tim?" Conner asked as he shut the door. "I thought you were a night person."

Tim blinked at him. "I _am_ a night person. To me, getting to bed before three on a school night is early. You can be really dense sometimes."

"What do you mean?"

Conner could see Tim's patience thinning. "We're sneaking out."

"Oh," Conner said. Suddenly he realized what was going on, and he chuckled. "Oh, I get it now."

Tim almost sighed, and he said, "We just need to wait for the Kents to go to sleep."

Conner nodded. "All right. I guess you would be an expert at this breaking curfew and sneaking out thing, huh?"

Tim bit his lip. "Something like that." He said it quietly. Even for Tim.

He sounded exactly how he had after dinner, Conner sighed, swearing at himself under his breath. If Tim was great at making him mad while staying calm, then he was every bit as good at making Tim feel like dirt without meaning to. He cursed himself some more and wished he would learn to think before opening his fat mouth.

"So do you have anything to do in here to keep us occupied for the next hour?" Tim asked, pretending nothing had happened.

"Sure." Conner reached for his nightstand, but suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his head. The headache was back. He shrugged it off, though, and he reached into his nightstand drawer and pulled out a deck of playing cards. "The Kents are old people so these are all over the house."

He tossed the cards to Tim, but he put his hand over his stomach. Not only was the headache back, but he felt a little nauseous too. So while they played poker, Tim sat on the foot of the bed while Conner lay down. They played five games, and somehow Tim lost all of them. When they played in Titans Tower, Tim was usually the best player so after he lost a sixth game, he set his cards down and asked, "Did you get X-ray vision or are you just cheating?"

"Uh, no…. Bart and I have just been practicing…" Conner looked away innocently, covering his mouth as he coughed, but he pointed behind Tim.

Tim looked over his shoulder, and then he hung his head when he saw the huge mirror on Conner's closet door.

"Way to be the 'world's second greatest detective,' Timmy. Very observant."

"That's it. You're done for." Tim grabbed the deck of cards off the bed, back flipped to the floor, and landed poised for battle. He pulled his arm back, and he started flinging cards at Conner, rapidly, one after another. They struck Conner in the face, arms, chest, and kneecaps. And then the face again just because Tim could. They didn't hurt Conner, but Tim had flicked them hard enough to leave brief red marks on his skin. Tim smirked.

"Hey, two can play that game." Conner picked up a card, took aim, and pulled his arm back. When he threw it, it dove straight into his floor, a whole yard from Tim's feet. Conner just looked at it, like a fat child who has dropped his ice cream cone. "That sucks."

Tim laughed. "Not everything Batman teaches me is useful."

Later…

Sneaking out had been the easy part. While they had waited, Conner kept feeling worse and worse. He thought he hid it well, though, and he still felt well enough to float to the door and pop it open with his telekinesis. He wondered if he should go back and carry Tim, but Tim was already beside him. Conner was impressed. Tim was the first person ever to walk around the Kents' house without the floor creaking. After they were outside, the hard part was finding something to do with their freedom. Smallville had even less to do at night, although swatting mosquitoes had been added to the activities. At first, the boys just walked around and talked, and even joked about fetching their costumes and patrolling Smallville. Eventually, Tim had said, "Okay, Conner, there has to be _something_ to do in this town."

Tim was smart, but he just couldn't understand that a whole town could go to sleep before midnight. Conner sympathized with him. It took him a whole two months to come to terms with that.

"Well, there are two things kids our age do. One of them is drink."

Tim shook is head. "What's the other?"

"Well…"

So twenty minutes later, they were in the middle of a field, crouching behind a bale of hay. The night was quiet, except for the sound of cows' mooing close by. "This is the dumbest thing," Tim muttered.

Conner shrugged. "Come on, Tim. Live a little. And besides, people do this all the time. It has to be some fun, right?"

Tim just shook his head. "It's stupid." The boys stayed low, and they crept over to one of the contently sleeping cows. "So what do we do?" Tim asked, eying the bovine beauty.

"I've never done this before." Conner shrugged. "I suppose we just push it over."

Tim rolled his eyes, but he braced his hands on the cow's side. Conner did the same. "On the count of three, okay? One. Two. Three!" Tim shoved, and Conner just kind of poked, and the cow fell to the ground with a loud thud. The cow cussed and swore as loudly as it could moo.

The boys got clear, then watched the cow for a moment. Conner was still watching it try to get up when he felt Tim's eyes drilling a hole into his neck. Conner turned to him, and Tim's eyes were wooden, staring into Conner as hard as they could.

Tim shook his head, disapprovingly.

"Alright alright! I don't see what people get out of it either. I just thought it'd be something worth trying. Sheesh!"

Suddenly, they heard a screen door slam followed by more swearing. Only this swearing was in human English. "I knew it! I knew there was someone out here! You damn kids! You damn kids leave mah' cows alone!"

"Oh crap," Conner muttered. "It's farmer Jed!"

"Get down!" Tim hissed, and he shoved Conner to the ground

Conner's face hit the dirt hard, and he gagged. His nose was inches away from a pile of cow dung. He eyed it in horror. "Oh, that's gross."

"Trust me. It could be worse."

"Oh, I know you're out here!" Jed called. "And I'm going to get you this time." They saw him step off his back porch, and they could also see he had something in his hand.

"That's a shotgun," Conner said. "That's it, we're getting out of here." He grabbed Tim by the wrist, and they shot into the sky.

Jed watched them streak into the heavens in amazement. He rubbed his eyes and blinked. He looked back at his house, and then he looked back at the clear night sky. Suddenly, a smile crept across his face. "I knew it! I knew it! The aliens _were_ here last night! And they came back to push over mah' cows!"

Several fields away, Conner set them down in the Kents' backyard. He fell to the ground, and wiped his brow. "That was close."

Tim shrugged, acting cool, and sat down beside him. "We've had closer," he said calmly.

Conner eyed him. Tim sounded composed, like nothing had happened, but Conner could hear Tim's heart beating a mile a minute. They just looked at each other for a moment, but suddenly the cracked up laughing. "So we can go up against Deathstroke the Terminator, and all kinds of super-creeps who want to kill us…"

"…yet Superboy and Robin run at the sight of Jed the Farmer and his Bovines of Doom?" Tim finished. He stretched his legs out in front of him. "And they think Batman and Superman are 'The World's Finest.'"

Conner laughed. "Okay, let's look at it this way. Superboy and Robin could have taken Farmer Jed and his whole herd of cows without breaking a sweat. Conner and Tim, however, they lost their heads and ran like scared kids."

"I didn't grab you and bolt off into the sky," Tim protested.

Conner started to say something back, but he stopped. Suddenly he realized that Tim's entire front, his T-shirt to halfway down his jeans, was covered with something thick, green, and stinky.

Tim tried to put on a brave face, but Conner's staring made him sigh. "When I told you to hit the ground, I kind of dove onto some manure."

Conner blinked.

"You can laugh. I know you want to."

"No, I don't. I think it's horrible," Conner giggled.

"Go ahead. Get it over with."

Conner couldn't take it anymore, and he literally fell over laughing. He rolled over the ground, across the dirt and grass, and laughed until his sides felt like they would bleed. "I guess at least one bird knows what it's like to get crapped on. Ha ha!" Conner clutched his sides.

Five minutes later, an annoyed Tim asked, "Can I go clean up?"

"Hang on," Conner gasped. "I guess we can go. I bet you're pooped." And then he laughed for three more minutes. "Okay. Now we can go in. For real. Heh."

They went back to the house, and after Tim had cleaned up, they went back to Conner's room to try really going to sleep. As soon as they both lay down, though, Conner's headache came back. He started coughing too, and he sounded like he was coming down with a cold. He felt awful all over, but the worst part was that Tim kept bugging him, asking him if there was anything he could do for Conner. Finally Conner snapped at him to shut up and go to sleep.

One of the reasons Conner hated going to bed was that it took him forever to fall asleep. However, he suddenly felt strangely drained. He fell asleep rather quickly despite his own sniffling and coughing.

He felt like he had barely been asleep when suddenly his eyes snapped open. He glanced at the clock and saw it was getting early, and then he looked down to see if Tim had woken him up.

Tim's sleeping bag was empty.

Conner sat up in bed, and he listened, thinking he could pick up the sounds of Tim in the bathroom. The house was completely still, but when he sat up though, something caught the corner of his eye. Out the window, Conner could see Tim silhouetted in the moonlight, in the Kents' backyard, toiling over something.

It looked like he was digging.

After several minutes, Tim started walking back to the house, and Conner threw himself back under the covers to pretend being asleep. Tim came into the room, crawled into his sleeping bag, and lay there like nothing had happened.

Conner listened to Tim's heartbeat, waiting for it to slow down. When it did, he quietly lifted himself from the covers and floated over to the door. He went outside to where he had seen Tim digging. The dirt was soft, and Conner plunged his hands into the earth to find out what was there.

Conner noticed that when he woke up, he had felt better. But when he approached the spot where Tim had been digging, his headache came back. When he kneeled down and started digging, it just got worse. The further he dug, the worse he felt. Each handful of dirt he scooped out seemed to get heavier, and heavier, and his stomach felt like it had been turned inside out. Finally, his hands found a solid object, and with cold sweat dripping down his face, Conner's shaky hands pulled it from the dirt.

He saw what it was, and he felt like the stupidest person on the planet. And he suddenly felt worse than he ever had in his life.

Shining green in the moonlight, in the palm of Conner Kent's hands, was a fist-sized chunk of Kryptonite.

"Conner," Tim said from behind him. "Let me explain."


	4. Issue 04 Superboy and Robin

Issue #4 – _Superboy and Robin_

For some reason, people who put on tights and beat up other people lead crazy lives. For some reason, occasionally the people these guys, even the so-called 'heroes,' beat up are their friends.

They do not necessarily want to hurt their friends. It is just one of those things that inevitably happens. Eventually. There is some natural law that says, given enough time, every costumed adventurer will beat up every other costumed adventurer at some point.

Tim Drake knew this. He knew that even Superman and Batman—yes, that Superman and the Batman—had fought on a couple of occasions, so he tried to rationalize, saying it was really only a matter of time before Superboy and Robin fought as well.

Though, Batman and Superman probably had not duked it out in Superman's mom's backyard.

And Tim was pretty sure Batman had not been barefoot, wearing a pair of athletic shorts and a faded t-shirt which read, 'Single and Ready to Mingle.'

And he was almost certain Superman had worn more than just a pair of boxer shorts with hula girls on them.

Tim's eyes darted around the yard. There was a rake against the house. He could probably reach it in time to drive it into Superboy's side. There were some trees not far away. He might be able to throw Superboy off with some aerial tactics. On the whole, the setting for their battle did not favor The Boy Wonder.

_Don't get ahead of yourself_, Tim thought. _You don't even know there's going to be a fight yet._

He looked at the fire building in Conner's eyes, and he remembered Superboy had heat vision.

_It doesn't hurt to be prepared._

"Tim, how could you?" Conner accused, balling his hand into a fist. The unshielded exposure to the Kryptonite made his knees buckle, and he felt like throwing up, but he sucked it up, refused to let Tim see that.

Tim saw it, though. Just like he had seen the mirror when they had played poker. He had pretended not to, though. He was good at pretending things. "Look, just calm down. I can—"

"Calm down? Calm down. You just buried the one thing that can kill me in my backyard! This is why I've been sick all day, isn't it? You had _this_," Conner threw his finger at the Kryptonite chunk lying in the dirt, "in your bag, didn't you?"

Tim bit his lip. "Yes," he said calmly. "I have. I buried it out here so it wouldn't hurt you anymore."

"But why would you even bring it at all?" Conner shouted.

"Just in case." Tim fingered something in his shorts pocket. "It's always good to be prepared."

Conner blinked as cold sweat dripped down his face. "It's always good to be prepared? Be prepared for what? To kill your friend?"

"Conner, take it easy. Some of us don't have superpowers so we have to rely on being prepared. We live strange lives. What if something happened and I had to take you down?"

"And why the hell would you need to do that?"

Even after all he had done, Tim's voice stayed calm. That made Conner angrier than anything because he realized he was not talking to Tim anymore; he was talking to Robin.

"Even Superman knows these things happen," Robin tried to explain. "He even gave Batman a chunk of Kryptonite—"

"Oh, wait, stop right there. Did you hear what you said? Superman _gave_ Batman the Kryptonite. He _gave_ it to him, as in Batman had his permission! Batman didn't just come to Superman's house when he's supposed to be hanging out with his friend and try to kill him!"

"I didn't try to kill you," Robin said. "I wish you would understand."

"You know what, Tim? You are just like Batman. No, wait, I take that back. You're worse. You're worse than Batman. You're a liar, you're a sneak, and you can't be trusted. You're paranoid, you're obsessive, and you can't trust people, not even someone who is supposed to be your friend, because deep down you know they can't trust you. I bet the Bat is proud, because he's raised you to be worse than he could ever be."

The air around Tim grew colder. "I am _not_ like Batman."

"I trusted you, Tim! You're supposed to be my partner and my friend! And then…then you go and betray that trust by doing this!" Unlike that morning on the phone, Conner did not hold back as he slammed his fist into the ground. His tactile telekinesis kicked in, and it threw Robin into the air.

"Calm down, Conner!" Robin ordered. "Get a hold of yourself."

"Oh, what, do you think I'm out of my head? Do you think the kryptonite is affecting my brain?"

"It might be." Robin knew that sounded bad to say, but it sounded better than what he was thinking. Conner did sound out of his head. He did not sound like Superboy anymore. He did not sound anything like Superman either. He sounded different. He sounded scary.

He sounded like Luthor.

Superboy growled, and he charged Robin. The Kryptonite had slowed him down, and Robin easily dodged out of the way. Robin assumed a stance, and he landed three kicks and punch to Superboy's face and shoulders before the clone had recovered from the charge. Robin watched Conner's red face turn to him, took aim, and plunged his fist into Superboy's stomach.

It was a martial arts punch, the kind that could shatter concrete blocks. It did not shatter Superboy, but Robin had not held back at all, certain that he could not possibly hurt the clone of Superman. However, either the Kryptonite had a stronger effect than Robin had anticipated or he had hit the human side of Conner because Superboy doubled over, actually fell to his knees, and gasped for air.

Tim looked down at his friend gasping for air, and he was sure his stomach felt worse than Conner's.

Tim wanted to kneel down and help him, but he just stood there. His training told him that would put him within the enemy's grasp. He could not risk… _What am I thinking?_ _This isn't Slade or Two-Face. It's…Conner…_ Tim bent down and held out his hand. "Here, let me help you."

"Get off me!" Conner shouted, and he shoved Tim into the air. Tim flew across the yard, hit hard, and threw dirt into the air as he rolled for fifteen feet. He stood up, bloody and cut, and wished for the relative safety of Kevlar. Or at least a sturdy pair of jeans.

Robin knew there was no way to beat Superboy in a straight fight, especially when all of his equipment was hundreds of miles away on the East coast. He longed for his bo staff or even some smoke bombs as he watched Superboy take flight. Superboy barreled towards him, and Robin reached his hand into his pocket. At least he still had an ace up his sleeve.

Robin pulled out the deck of playing cards they had played poker with earlier. He took two cards in his hand, watched Superboy's face and fists hurtling closer, and he took aim and tossed the cards like ninja stars at the human projectile.

Each card struck Superboy in an eye. His hands flew over his face, and he crashed into the dirt, skidded, and Tim leapt into the air to dodge him. Superboy cried out in pain and anger. He blinked once, twice, three times. No matter how hard he tried, he could not make the world come back into focus, and his eyes watered.

Robin reminded himself that he could not beat Superboy, so he had to end the fight quickly. He could only think of one thing to do, and deep down, Tim Drake would rather let Superboy tear him apart. However, Robin knew it must be done. "I've got one shot at this," Tim muttered to himself as he took off his t-shirt. "Hey, Superboy," he said coldly. "I'm over here."

Superboy cursed him, took flight again, and charged even more recklessly this time. He could barely see, but he could make out the blurred shape of Tim only feet away.

Tim took a deep breath, waited for Conner to get close enough, and then he jumped into the air again. This time, in a fluid motion, he twisted himself around and landed on Conner's back. When he landed, Tim already had his t-shirt wrapped around Conner's throat.

Tim gripped the ends of the T-shirt tightly, ignored the sound of his friend gagging, and threw himself as hard as he could back and to the left. He steered Conner off course, and the two of them spiraled through the air and crashed to the ground. Both of their bodies skipped across the backyard like rag dolls thrown from a speeding semi.

For a long time, neither of them moved.

Tim reached up and rubbed his head. It ached like it had been split with a hammer. His back hurt too and so did his arms and chest. He could feel dirt stinging cuts all over his body. He pushed himself up, and he saw bright spots of blood shining on his dirt covered chest. He looked around, and he found Conner lying not far away.

Conner was still, as still as a corpse.

"Conner?" Tim called weakly. He stumbled over to him. "Are you okay?"

He made it to Conner, and his heart stopped. He wished he could become Robin again, detach himself from the situation, and not see what he had done. Instead, Tim was left to see it, and he choked on his own throat.

Conner was bloody, lying face down in the dirt, his head resting on the half buried chunk of Kryptonite. He looked pale. His skin felt cold, but he did not shiver. He did not move, no matter how hard Tim shook him. No matter how hard Tim pleaded and wished for him to move.

It had been Robin's plan all along to steer Superboy towards the Kryptonite, but now that Conner was not moving, Tim almost lost it. Tim bit his lip, swallowed hard, and blinked back something in his eyes that made them pink.

"Come on, man, we have to get you out of here," Tim said, shaking as he stooped down. He wrapped his arms around Conner and hoisted him onto his shoulder. He felt Conner's faint heart-beat against his back.

The kitchen light was on. The fight had woken up the Kents. They just stared in shock as the bloody Tim Drake carried the limp body of their adopted son into the house. Having their eyes on him felt worse than any of his cuts or bruises, and he carried Conner to the bedroom and laid him on the bed.

The Kents followed him, and Martha stooped over the bed and sounded like she might cry. Jonathan tried to stay calm, and he asked what had happened. Tim told them the whole story. He looked down the whole time, unable to look at the nice people he had hurt with his foolish actions, and his voice stayed quiet and weak, very unlike the voice anybody—Batman, the Titans, even Jack Drake—ever had heard from him.

When he finished, the Kents did not say anything. Martha cleaned up Conner and doctored his cuts. Jonathan just stared at the floor. At last he said, "I guess you better go get cleaned up yourself. Conner will be fine. He just needs to rest now. I suppose we'll talk about this more in the morning."

Tim nodded, and he went to the bathroom.

The Kents, knowing there was nothing more they could do, went back to their room. Tim, however, came back to Conner's room and watched his friend. What Jonathan had said, about Conner being alright, did not make him feel any better. He wished he could hear Conner say it. He wished he could hear Conner say anything. At that moment, Tim wished he could hear anybody say anything.

He suddenly felt so alone.

He fell on his knees in front of his suitcase, and he pulled out a small radio. It was the one Batman gave to all of his operatives, and it kept them in constant touch. Or it was supposed to. Tim turned it on, but a small red light told him it was getting no signal. Still, he pushed the button down, and weakly muttered, "Come in. Come in. Is there anybody out there?"

His voice got lost in the static, and no reply came. "Damn," Tim sighed, and he tossed the communicator back into his suitcase. When he did, he spotted something he had forgotten about.

Tim had told his father that he was visiting a friend, one from school who was visiting his dad in Kansas. Tim's heart sank. Yet another lie. But before he had left, his father had bought him a phone card, just in case he got homesick. Tim picked it up, and clutched it as he went to the kitchen. He punched in the numbers blindly, and he followed the automated operator's instructions. Then he found himself dialing his home phone number.

It rang five times before a sleepy Jack Drake mumbled, "Hello?"

Tim quickly slammed the phone down. He did not know what he had been thinking. He just needed to hear somebody's voice, somebody who would understand, somebody who…he just needed somebody he trusted. He sighed.

He glanced back at the doorway leading to Conner's room, and then he punched in another phone number. He also needed somebody who could trust _him_.

The device he called rang. And rang. And Tim realized that he was not even sure this would work.

In Blüdhaven, the sun was just about to come up, which meant it was almost quitting time at Dick Grayson's night job. At work, Dick Grayson—former Robin, Bruce Wayne's adopted son, and former leader of the Teen Titans—went by the name Nightwing. This shift, he had tracked down a group of gang members who had been selling heroin and other bad things to the people in his town. Nightwing had just dropped in on them—dramatically, the way Batman had taught him—when he noticed his communicator going off, and he had rolled his eyes. He was having a hard enough time looking threatening without chit-chatting too.

See, the gang was dressed as clowns. And they were not scary clowns like the murderous Joker of Gotham or Pennywise from _It_, but they were dressed like ridiculous clowns, like the kind that climb out of the tiny cars at the circus. They had to be the most pathetic criminals Nightwing had seen in a while. He clicked his communicator on. "This is Nightwing."

"Are you busy?" Tim asked.

Nightwing looked around. There were about twenty members of the gang surrounding him, and each of them brandished a weapon. "Not really," he said. "I can talk, Robin."

Tim sighed. Nightwing had called him Robin. He knew they could not use real names while they were on the job, but for some reason, Tim really wanted to talk to Dick and to have Dick talk to Tim right now.

"Something's happened," Tim said quietly.

"What's happened?" Nightwing asked, ducking a blow. The clown punched one of his buddies in the face, which caught him by surprise and allowed Nightwing to punch the clown in the gut.

"It doesn't matter. I'm sure you'll hear about it sooner or later. I just—I just kind of needed to talk to somebody right now."

Nightwing grabbed a clown by his hair and flung him across the room. "Hey, if you want to talk to somebody, I recommend Oracle. Or even Batgirl. I hear she's rather chatty these days. Or Batman. Try Batman. He's a great listener, very compassionate." Nightwing jumped to avoid a blast of seltzer water. Then he blinked at the clown who had shot it. "Did you just shoot seltzer water at me? Seriously, what did you think that would do?"

The clown just shrugged before Nightwing sighed and punched him in the face.

"I think talking to Batman right now would be a very bad idea."

"Oh, I see," Nightwing said, smiling. "This is one of those 'I did something behind the Bat's back' things, isn't it? You're going to be in a lot of trouble, but don't worry. I did it all the time, and I survived." Nightwing back flipped to avoid a rubber chicken.

"I wasn't really thinking about that." Tim sighed. "Look, I think you're really the one I should be talking to."

"Well, okay. What do you want to know? Is it about girls? Because all the ones I know usually try to kill me. Oh! Is it about Starfire? I told her it was a bad idea to sport that much cleavage around teenaged Earth boys…."

"Can you…can you be serious for a moment, please?"

Nightwing looked around at the bleeding clowns. There were still five standing, and they were in a huddle, trying to decide their next plan of action. "I can try."

Tim sighed.

It was the type of sigh that hurt Nightwing's chest, and it made his voice grow softer. "What's wrong, Tim? What's troubling you?"

"I just…do you think I'm too much like Batman?"


	5. Issue 05 Smells Like Teen Spirit

Issue #5 – _Smells Like Teen Spirit...and Cows…_

Conner's eyes flickered open. He felt the bed beneath him, and he felt the stiffness in his joints. It was still too cool outside to feel the first rays of sunshine that crept through his window and over his body. His bones popped as he stretched and looked around his bedroom, and memories from the night before pieced themselves together in his head.

There was a chair beside his bed. And in the chair was Tim. He had fallen asleep while keeping a watch over Conner. Conner studied him for a moment, and he shook his head. Tim looked small with his head nodding against his chest. "I can't believe I let _that_ kick my ass," Conner muttered.

Then an evil little small pulled the corner of his mouth. He quietly floated out of bed and behind Tim. His feet hovered only a half-inch above the floor, and Conner carefully reached down behind Tim's back, so quietly that he did not even disturb the air, and he gripped the waistband of Tim's underwear.

"Hey, Tim," he said gently.

"Yeah?" Tim mumbled, not even opening his eyes.

"Rise and shine, buddy." With that, Conner yanked Tim straight into the air so that Tim's legs dangled and kicked, and his face twisted in pain as his underwear shot into hisnether regions.

Tim bit his lip. He valiantly tried to act tough, and nobody could have done it better, but Tim was still human. After about a minute and a half, he started to whimper. He swallowed hard, trying to make his voice sound tough, but it still cracked when he asked if he could be let down.

That made Conner laugh so hard that he dropped Tim onto the bed so he could hold his sides. Tim did not move. He bounced to a complete stop then just laid there for a long time, still biting his lip, and refusing to say anything until his groin stopped throbbing and he could regain his composure.

Conner was on the floor, on his side, laughing as hard as he possibly could. After a long time of Tim not saying anything, Conner wiped the tears from his eyes, and lay down beside Tim, watching him, amused. Tim kept staring at the ceiling, a blank expression on his pale face.

"Are you okay, Tim?" Conner asked with a grin.

Tim slowly turned his head towards him. Tim's expression was still blank. "There was this one time when Poison Ivy wrapped Batman and me in thorns. It was the worst pain I had ever felt until five seconds ago. I'm scared to check, but I think my crotch may be bleeding."

Conner laughed as Tim stood up to adjust himself. Tim lifted his T-shirt, and the waistband of his boxers was halfway up his abdomen. He opened the fly, and his belly-button stared back at him.

"Hey, you're a superhero. You're supposed to wear your underwear on the outside," Conner explained.

"Ha," Tim muttered. He shook his head and looked away, but Conner's super hearing caught Tim's slight chuckle as he fixed himself.

Then Tim sat down on the bed beside Conner, and neither of them said anything for a while.

They sighed at the same time.

"So…" Conner said slowly.

Tim just nodded and kept his head down.

"Do you think we need to have a long talk?"

Tim nodded. He found that looking at the floor was easier than looking at Conner.

"Well, let me get dressed. Then we'll go for a walk or something."

Tim left the room, and he had no place to go but the kitchen where the Kents were. They did not say anything to him. Martha went right on scrambling her eggs and Jonathan pretended to be more interested in the newspaper than the boy who had hurt their 'son' the night before. Tim stood against the wall, with his arms crossed. He did not look at them either. He stared at the floor, and he almost wished he was suspended in the air by Conner's wedgie again. Anything would be more comfortable than this.

Conner came out of his room wearing jeans and a plain black T-shirt. He had not put his glasses on yet, so he looked just like Superboy, only with out the big red _S_ on his chest. It was odd, because Tim was wearing a red T-shirt and mock green pants. He looked like a parody of his alter-ego too.

Conner excused them from breakfast, telling the Kents they would eat later, and the two boys went outside to the backyard. The sun was not all the way up yet, so the sky was still fading its orange and red into blue. They ended up on the roof of the Kents' barn, Conner flying up there and Tim leaping off a barrel, and they laid there, with their hands folded behind their heads, and did not say anything until they watched the sun come all the way up.

As the bright yellow ball looked down on them, Conner broke the silence.

"There's something I need to say to you right now."

Tim nodded, and he bit his lip. He had beaten himself up over what had happened all night, but he knew it would not be as bad as hearing it from Conner's lips. He put on his bravest face, which by this point, was not very brave at all.

"About what happened last night," Conner started, "Tim, man, I'm really sorry."

Tim looked at him for a moment, saw that Conner meant it, but Tim still thought he had misheard. "You're sorry?"

Conner nodded, and he looked back at the sky. "I don't know what came over me. I just felt so angry. When I felt that...the Kyrptonite...when I felt it in my hands, when I saw it... It was just kind of like everything good in me died. All of my nobleness, the desire to help people, my sense of responsibility, what little of that there is, it just disappeared. It was like the half of me trying to be 'The Man of Steel' just turned off, and what was left..."

Conner bit his lip.

"Tim, I really wanted to hurt you last night. And I don't think I was holding back. I could have killed you, man."

"But you didn't," Tim said. He really did not know what to say.

Conner ignored him. "I've realized something. I've never really been around Kryptonite, and only half of me is Kryptonian in the first place. So what if it affects me differently than Superman? What if it just kills the Superman side of me and leaves me with..." Conner's voice grew quiet. "...with being like the other guy..."

Conner looked at Tim, almost pleaded with him. "I'd rather die than become like him."

Tim thought it over for a while. Then he said, "Just because you have somebody's DNA in you doesn't mean you're going to become that person."

"But it's Lex Luthor! He could have a switch, a button that he just has to press, and I could be his little walking time-bomb."

Tim started to dismiss that as nonsense, but then he stopped. That actually was very possible. He would have to look into it later, but at the moment, Tim said, "I don't think that's what happened last night. I think last night you were just hurt because you thought you could trust me, and you learned that you can't."

Conner did not say anything. Tim had said it so matter-of-factly, so calmly, but something about his voice sounded…vulnerable…

For a long while, neither of them said anything. The sun had climbed further into the sky when Tim spoke.

"You said something last night. Something I've been thinking about. You said I was worse than Batman."

"I just said that out of anger. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry."

"Conner," Tim ordered, "stop apologizing for things you shouldn't be sorry for."

Conner shut up.

Tim continued, looking straight ahead, his voice never showing any emotion. "Do you know why Batman has a Robin? It's to keep him human. Batman is a very..." Tim looked for the right word. "...he walks a very fine line. He is obsessed with his quest, and sometimes it feels like that is all he cares about, and he doesn't care who gets hurt along the way as long as _his_ goal is preserved. He pushes people away, he shuts them out. He does it to his friends. He does it to his partners. He even did it to his own adopted 'ward.'" Tim shook his head. "He refers to him as a 'ward,' when really—really—he's like his 'son.' And there were two people before me, Batgirl and the second Robin. Batgirl can't walk now, and Robin—Jason—he's…he's dead."

The sun climbed higher into the sky.

"Batman does a lot of good, though," Conner said. "He's a hero. It's not such a bad thing to be like him."

"Superman."

"What?"

"Superman," Tim repeated. "Batman is supposedly Superman's partner and friend, right? They even know each other's IDs." Tim shook his head. "You know that chunk of Kryptonite I brought yesterday?"

"Yeah, it's the piece Superman gave Batman because he trusts him."

Tim laughed. "No. Not even close. Superman gave Batman a much, much smaller piece. That chunk is from a safe, a stockpile Batman has been building up for years. He claims he's been buying it up to keep it out of the hands of the Luthors and the Jokers of the world, but really, he's saving it, just in case he ever has to take Superman out for good."

Conner just sat there, stunned for a little bit. He would never have admitted it, but he was a little frightened.

"What kind of person does that to a friend?" Tim asked. Then he shook his head. "Me. I did. I brought Kryptonite here, just in case something happened and I had to take you down. I didn't even pack my Robin suit because this was supposed to be Conner and Tim, not Superboy and Robin. We were supposed to just have a normal week, for once in our lives, and I screwed it up because something bad _might_ happen. Robin is supposed to rub off on Batman, make him lighter so he doesn't cross the line. Instead, Batman has been wearing off on me. I brood more than he does. I lie. I don't trust anybody, nobody can trust me, and I'm always paranoid. I'm letting his quest take over my life too, and I don't like that. I don't want that. I don't want to be Batman."

Tim took a breath.

"I don't think I want to be Robin anymore either. Sometimes I think getting fired is the best thing that ever happened to Nightwing. At least Nightwing still has his sense of humor."

The birds chirped as the cool morning breeze started to blow. The sun climbed a little higher.

"Tim," Conner said slowly.

Tim looked up.

"Just because somebody raised you doesn't mean you'll become that person."

Tim smiled quietly. "Heh."

"You know what else I think?"

"What?"

"I think every teenager fears becoming their parents, whether their parents never lived up to their potential, became megalomaniacs, are obsessive mentors with capes, or contributed their DNA to a cloning project years ago. So we need someone to help us not become our parents. And that's what friends are for."

Tim looked at him, and Conner could tell he was mulling the words over in his head. Then Tim smiled. "Yeah. You're right, Conner."

And for the first time, Tim made Conner feel like he was smart.

"I think Nightwing tried to tell me that last night. I don't know, though. I wasn't really listening."

"You talked to Nightwing last night?"

Tim nodded. "I called him. He said he could swing out here and pick me up as soon as I knew you were okay. I told him I'd call him around noon, so I guess in a few hours, you won't have to see me again until the weekend. I'm really sorry about last night. I feel terrible about it."

Conner bit his lip, and he stood up. "Well, you should. You messed up big time, and you could have killed me. You should feel awful."

Tim nodded, and this time he found the roof easier to look at than Conner. "I know. I do. I hope you can forgive me."

Conner shook his head. "I hope I can too. You really hurt me, and it's going to take a long time for me to get over that."

Tim accepted that. He wished there was more he could do, something he could say to take it all back and make it better. Instead, he was just left to sit there, looking down, feeling down, and trying to hold it all in. He even failed at that and let out a small sigh.

Conner kneeled down. "Hey, Tim?"

Tim looked up.

"I forgive you, buddy." Then Conner wrapped his arms around Tim, hoisted him into the air, and hugged him so tightly that Tim's ribs started to ache.

When Conner set him down, Tim brushed himself off, and he eyed Conner. "You forgive me? Just like that?"

Conner nodded. "Yep."

"Why?"

Conner shook his head. "You know, Tim, I like you, but sometimes you can be really dense." Conner thumped Tim on the forehead. "Because you're my friend, stupid. I don't just turn my back on you because you screwed up. Especially when you admit it and apologize."

"Oh," Tim said, matter-of-factly. He thought it over for a second, and then he said. "Okay. But please, never hug me again." He only managed to stay stoic for a second before his face cracked into a smile, and he playfully punched Conner in the shoulder.

"So do you have to go with Nightwing?" Conner asked as he floated down from the barn. "Because I'd hate to put him through all the trouble of coming out here."

"Well," Tim said, as he landed in a crouch beside Conner, "if he isn't working, Nightwing is probably sleeping. Missing work is bad, and the guy needs more sleep. I suppose if you want me to stay, I could."

"Well, things _are_ a lot more interesting in Smallville when you're around."

It was settled. Tim would spend the rest of the week at the Kents'. With that, the two boys went inside for pancakes and scrambled eggs. And after that, they did some farm chores. And nothing extraordinary happened the rest of the day, or the day after that, or the day after that.

And for some reason, that was perfectly okay with the _real _'World's Finest.'

_End_


End file.
